


Six Months of Fantasies

by Highlander_II



Series: Allison Cameron's Journal [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/pseuds/Highlander_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After House violated Cameron's privacy, he attempts to make up for it by presenting her with a new journal.  However, something's changed and the new journal investigates another side of Cameron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January 2008

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the same AU segment as "Fifteen Years on Paper".

**Entry #1**   
_House -_

You gave me this journal, so it makes sense to write the entries to you. Anything I write here, however, is to stay between the two of us. I am giving you a view into a very private side of my life, (granted one in which you have suddenly become a rather significant part) and if you can't respect the boundaries, I will stop writing in here.

This journal will contain entries on any number of things: what we do, my dreams, my feelings, my fantasies. (I'll wait while you daydream for a minute.)

I'm emotional, you know this, so if you don't think you'll be able to handle it, that's fine, but if you continue reading, it's your choice.

When we're together, I'll tell you if I don't like something (it'll also be written here), but that doesn't mean that I won't do that something again if **you** enjoy it. As long as you bear in mind that if it is beyond my boundaries, I have the right to refuse. There aren't many things on my 'absolutely never' list (those things that I won't even try), but there are a **lot** of things on my 'at least once' list, not to mention several things on the 'absolutely yes' list (we've actually done a couple of these already).

I also want you to know that betraying my trust really hurt me - emotionally. I'm mostly over it, but thought you should know that there will still be some things that I won't tell you until you earn them. I'm not angry at you anymore (obviously), your insufferable snooping gave me the mental push I needed to get through some things. For that I thank you. I know that wasn't your intention, but it happened.

In addition, I want you to know that my door is always open to you (figuratively and sometimes literally). If you want to talk, I'll listen. Feel free to write things down in here too if you want. They won't go outside these pages. Only you and I will know they're here.

Cameron

* * *

**January**

**Dream #1 - Dreaming of you-**   
_  
I dreamed of you last night. I'm working in the lab and you come in, drag me out of the lab and into an empty patient room. I want you to ravish me, but you don't. You go slow. Slow touches, slow kisses, soft and gentle and driving me absolutely fucking crazy. _

The more I try to make you go faster - tugging at the buttons on your shirt, pulling at your hair or neck - the slower you get. It's the most amazingly frustrating thing in the world. And just when I think you're about to take me hard and fast -

The scene switches and we're running a DDx, only Chase and Foreman are big lab retrievers. The ideas they offer pretty much suck, but you don't seem to mind. Of course, that could be because you have your hand up my shirt the whole time, while doggy!Chase and doggy!Foreman just tilt their doggy heads at you quizzically.  


* * *

**Entry #2**   
_The other night was really hot. I mean **really** hot. We absolutely have to do that again. Have I mentioned I rather enjoy being restrained? And having sex? And kissing you?_

Okay. I'll stop being girlie for a minute.

Tasting you, having you in my mouth, was amazing. It's powerful to be there, doing that, **knowing** that it's because of me. It's also submissive. You could move away or grab my head at any time and do whatever you want. I like it. Even if I haven't had much opportunity recently to do it. I miss it.

About Sarah. Thank you. I know, you hate this emotional stuff, but she's my sister. And I haven't let myself be emotional like that about her since she died. I wasn't sure I was allowed. It's a long story, you'd have to understand about my parents and what it was like. I'm not getting into it here because that's not what this journal is for, but if you earn it, I will tell you.  


* * *

**Entry #3**   
_Okay, seriously, it's kind of creepy to wake up to your boss sitting in your room._

You made me forget my dream, so now you don't get one here.

That sandwich was gross, but the other 'gift' - intriguing. It's still sitting on the nightstand. And I still think you're crazy. Not that I won't do it, just that you're nuts. Wearing it to work makes me a little nervous, but there's some excitement in there too.

Where the hell do you get some of these ideas? I know a couple were mine, but... you know what. I don't think I actually want to know. Just keep making it interesting.  


* * *

**Fantasy #1**   
_About the fantasies: These aren't requirements. They're ideas. Meant to promote creative thinking and spark other ideas for play. Mostly likely, I won't mind acting them out, but if they're marked with 'Ask First', please ask me before launching into it._

\------

**Ask First** \- You've shoved me under your desk - it's after hours, so it's dark and most everyone's gone - your hand is coiled in my hair, guiding my head to suck you off. It's cramped and tiny, but so erotic. Especially when I hear the door to your office hiss open, then Stacy's voice huskily growling at you about spending too much time at work.

"I'm busy," you respond and tap my cheek as you draw yourself from my mouth. Your hand shifts to tuck back into your pants. Once you're in, I work on fastening them so you can look mostly normal while Stacy's strutting across the floor toward your desk.

 

"You're always busy," she retorts and I can just imagine her hands on her hips.

You shift your hips in the chair as I get your pants zipped and you're leaning forward, cramping the tiny space I **do** have. "Medicine doesn't stop because it's inconvenient."

Stacy sighs acquiesence. "I know that, Greg -" she's the only one who always calls you 'Greg'. "-but," there's a pause where she's obviously doing something you like, "I need you," she hisses.

I hear you grunt and watch your hips shift on the chair. You were hard, but now you're harder - and I'm jealous because it's a reaction to Stacy. Then I see Stacy's long legs step around the desk. She's right there, she could see me if I moved at all, so I freeze.

Your large hands move out of my sight for a moment, then Stacy's legs are dangling over the edge of the desk, close enough that if she were to swing them, she'd kick me in the face. I hear her moaning softly - you must be touching her - and I'm jealous again, because this was supposed to be **my** time and she's stealing it.

Then you move your chair back and I'm afraid you're going to make me leave, but you don't. You proceed as though I'm not even there. You're on your feet and unzipping your fly – I never got it buttoned – then drawing out your cock, stroking it smoothly. It takes every ounce of restraint not to touch or taste you myself.

I lick my lips watching you as you step forward and penetrate Stacy – who I assume is laying back on the desk. My eyes widen in shock as I watch her legs disappear from sight, presumably propped on the desk or wrapped around your hips.

I can hear her moaning, you grunting while you fuck her. The desk shakes and I watch your legs stiffen as you come, spilling inside Stacy instead of me. I'm not jealous now, I'm angry. That was for me. I'm seething so hard I don't realize that Stacy's dressed and gone until I hear the hiss of the door again and feel the pull of your hand in my hair.

"Clean me," you command.

"Wha-?" I ask, gasping at you.

"Use your hot mouth and that wicked tongue and clean my dick." You shove my head toward you – the glistening slickness of Stacy's arousal and orgasm coating your cock.

I lean in, hands on your thighs, and take your cock into my mouth. The taste is odd – a combination of you and Stacy, or what must be Stacy, because it's not you. It's not a bad taste, just different. After a moment the taste no longer matters and I'm only concentrating on sucking you. I love sucking you – the sounds you make, the things you do.

You moan your pleasure. "That's it. My dirty little girl. My dirty little girl who likes to suck dick. Good girl."

One of the things I like is that you tend to get mouthy – not in a bad way, but after a while it gets repetitive. To be honest, I'm not always paying attention, but what I hear, turns me on. If you do it just right, it boosts my enthusiasm.

"Did you like that, slut? Listening to me fuck another woman?" You wait for my nod. "Did you enjoy sucking her taste from my dick?" Another nod from me. "Would you like to bury your nose in her pussy and taste her?"

My eyes blink open and I look up at you, your cock still in my mouth, I shake my head in the negative. I am not at all interested in lesbian sex – been there done that, wasn't impressed.

You frown at me. "Too bad. That'd be really hot."

In a desperate attempt to distract you, I drag just the edges of my teeth along the skin of your cock. For my effort, I get a deep, satisfied groan, plus your hand in my hair again.

You tug my face off your cock and snarl down at me, "Oh, you are a bad, bad girl, aren't you?"

I nod at you, licking your taste from my lips.

"You know you've done something bad, don't you?" Your fingers move from my hair to pinch my chin.

I bite my lip and nod lightly. I'm not supposed to use my teeth on your cock unless you ask.

You push your chair back and just look at me while tucking yourself back in again. That look, I know what it means. I don't need to be told. If I wait for you to tell me, it's worse.

I wriggle myself from beneath the desk, then fold myself across the top of it where I can only assume Stacy lay moments ago. A full minute later I feel your warm, calloused fingers brushing the skin of my thighs, pushing my skirt up over my butt, high up on my hips. You're going to spank me, but I'm not allowed to enjoy it.

"I hurt my hand the last time, so we're going to trying something new," you growl from behind me.

I hear movement, but I'm not allowed to look. The rules are – if I'm bad, you can punish me however you'd like and I'm not allowed to do or say anything. The movement continues – I still don't know what you're doing – then there's a sharp crack as something very much not your hand strikes my skin.

I make no sounds – another of the rules, if I'm bad, I'm not allowed to make noise – as I continue to be spanked. After the third crack, I realize you're using your leather belt. It hurts – stings in fact – but it's turning me on, a lot. You're going to be angry, because I'm not supposed to react at all, but you've never hit me with the belt before...

\------

Okay, maybe I'm getting a little carried away with this fantasy thing, but that was really hot. And it **is** just a fantasy. Thinking about it doesn't mean I have to do it. Doesn't make it any less hot though.  


* * *

**Dreaming of work-**   
_I've had this weird recurring dream about being promoted to the head of immunology. Wilson's figured out that you and I are seeing each other in some capacity and he stops in to give me a little 'Don't hurt my House' speech. It's kinda sweet. And he doesn't warn me away, but he does warn me that if I hurt you, I'm in trouble and he'll be angry. So I promise not to hurt you. I would never hurt you._

The last time I had that dream, I also had a dream about us running a DDx on a ferret, only you were a zebra. I don't know why, but we did save the ferret.  


* * *

**Fantasy #2**   
_You come to my place in the middle of the night. You don't have to pick the lock because I've left the door open. I'm in the bath and it takes you a little while to find me, so you're a little angry and grouchy, but mostly, you're horny because you've been thinking about what you want to do to me. From the looks of things, I'm soon to find out what that is._

Or, so I thought until you see me in the tub, bubbles up to my neck. Instead of whatever you had planned, you strip down and climb in with me. This - not a bad thing.

You're sitting behind me, arms curled around to capture my breasts and I lean against you, my head on your shoulder and we're just - sitting. Relaxing. Touching. And mmmmm.  


* * *

**Entry #4**   
_At work? Are we insane? And just how the hell did we not get caught? _

It was completely your fault though - buzzing that thing against my sensitve clit. I already want you nearly every minute of the day, but to have you toy with me like that... cranks it up a notch or ten. Which will only make you do it again - or more.

But - oh, wow. That was hot. What the hell did you do to me? I think you've unleashed something. I can't say that I don't like it, but it's certainly, different.

You asked me if I enjoyed doing it - sucking you off - I did. I do. I never did before, but you, yeah. Maybe it's because I know you enjoy it so much. That makes a big difference. I love the way you feel in my mouth. The way the soft skin slides over my tongue and how you get harder when I start to tease you. I know you like what I do, because you thrust into my mouth. You taste... like you smell - something heady and masculine, but with something else there, not your soap, probably the Vicodin, whatever it is, I like it. It's you.

Though, my knees hurt from that damned floor. We need cushions if we're going to do that again.  


* * *

**Entry #5**   
_I didn't think this would bother me at all, but so many days with nothing... you're killing me. Is there a 12-step program for quitting your boss?_

Chase and Foreman don't understand why I like you. Hell, _you_ don't understand it. To be honest, I don't either. That doesn't mean I want to pass up the opportunity to try something. Okay, we should both take a morality check, but I can't seem to bring myself to ask you to stop. It's been a long time since it was this good. Plus, you like to play in my fantasies. No one's ever really wanted to do that before. You're not afraid to try things. I like that about you. even if I have probably scared you off now  


* * *

**Fantasy #3**   
_I have quite a few toys in my collection, one of them prompted this little tidbit, since I bumped into it digging in my closet last night:_

You're sitting in that chair in my room, watching me bend over to dig in the back of the closet. In your own special way, you're 'appreciating' the view. When I stand up, I have a metal bar about three feet long with metal rings on either end and two metal rings in the center.

I turn around to find you gazing at the object with an inquisitive expression. So, of course, you ask what it is and I tell you it's a 'spreader bar'. This prompts several comments from you, followed by an excited query of 'how does it work?' as your long fingers reach out and wave for me to let you see it. I hand it over as I explain it's workings and watch your eyes light up with the possibilities you see.

The very next sentence from you is a question, wanting to know where the wrist and ankle cuffs are so you can try it out. Instead of retrieving them for you, I point to a small chest in the corner and let you choose for yourself. There are any number of 'toys' in the box, not just the cuffs, and watching you sift through them is almost as much fun as playing with them.

When you get back from your exploration, you have wrist and ankle cuffs and a vibrator. Nice choices. You spend time caressing my skin as you strap each of the cuffs in place, then gently turn me around, facing away from you, and press your hand against my back, instructing me to bend forward. You kneel behind me to lock the ankle cuffs to the ends of the spreader bar, then, instead of standing and walking around, you reach through, between my legs, to gather my wrists and lock them to the bar as well. I couldn't be any more vulnerable or exposed to you than I am right now.

My entire body shudders when I feel your tongue touch me and your hands on my thighs. I love your hands...

I think you have enough imagination to see where this will lead, so I'll leave you to it.  


* * *

**Entry #6**   
_Oops! If Brenda had been any more observant, we'd be in some serious trouble. What do you plan to bribe her with? Showing up to clinic duty on time?_

That aside, holy - wow. Can we do lunch like that at least once a week? Forget the driving part where you nearly drove into that snowbank because you had your hand creeping up my skirt, or that we looked ridiculous trying to shuffle up to my apartment because you couldn't unglue your lips from my neck, the sex was fucking amazing! Do you do it like that every time?

With the hope that you don't stop doing it - standing against the wall is one of my favorite positions. Not sure how you and your leg managed that much strength and power without me having to carry you back to work, but I am **not** complaining.

Making you angry with me (while not actually part of the plan) was just about the sexiest thing since Wolverine. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it was. I like it when you're like that - forceful and **dominant**. It turns me on.  



	2. February 2008

**Entry #7 - (written at work while waiting on lab tests)**   
_I'm torn between 'that was really scary' and 'that was really exciting'. The lunch part was awesome. The part after that - in the clinic. Oh my god - if we'd gotten caught... actually caught. Wow. _

I'm glad we didn't. What's next on **your** list? Doing it in Cuddy's office?  


* * *

**Fantasy #4**   
_Outfits - I told you I had them. I have several._

******

You ask me to dress as a cheerleader. It's a little cliché, but it makes sense to start with the classics. (I do actually have this outfit.) You show up at my apartment for a 'tryout' and ask me to perform several simple gymnastic moves, most of which make my skirt flip from it's usual position, exposing the fact that I'm not wearing anything beneath it. Not even the little 'spanky' pants. You seem quite pleased with this development and ask me to perform several more gymnastics maneuvers.

Once that no longer interests you, you ask if I've ever been on the top of a pyramid while your large hands smooth up and down my legs, grazing the insides of my thighs, pushing my legs apart until I'm standing with them a bit more than shoulder-width. I tell you that I have been the top of the pyramid before and I like being on top. This pleases you, but you want to see more.

Your fingers have trailed up to my pussy and toyed with my clit until I'm so wet I'm dripping. You wave a hand for me to spin around, then you ask me to do a backbend over the arm of the couch - so I have support. Then you're leaning down, tasting me, feeding me all sorts of annoying (yet somehow sexy) cliché lines about being good for the team and whatnot.

It should be noted, you do everything you can short of making me come - something about being challenged. By this point, you're so hard you can't think straight and all you have the mind to do is fuck me so hard we nearly fall to the floor.

******

Next in outfits - naughty schoolgirl...  


* * *

**Entry #8**   
_Two days. And, by the way, I got the lipstick out of your shirt. That wasn't all that hard. Yes, I found it in the hospital laundry. Figured you'd want it back.  
_

* * *

**Fantasy #5**   
_'Freak on a leash'  
I know you were expecting the schoolgirl outfit one, but I was running errands and saw a woman leading a man down the street by a leash attached to a collar and this hit me:_

You stop by my place after work on a Friday with another 'gift'. You tell me to go to my room and put it on with nothing else but a pair of black heels. Imagine my shock when I find out there's nothing but a slim, pink, leather collar with the word 'Princess' stitched onto the front.

I step back into the living room to find you having a staring contest with my television. I'm in nothing but the collar, the shoes and a bit of shimmery body powder. I know you know I'm there. You always know.

It's not until you reach down to a bag by your feet that I realize there is a second part of this gift. I ask what it is and watch as you draw out a matching leather leash.

My heart stops for a second, because that's hot. The crazy thing kicks into double time when you finally look up and I can almost **see** your jeans getting tighter. I feel my body flush under your appreciative gaze. I want you to touch me, but you sit there on my couch, looking at me, making sure I know it, making sure I'm feeling self-conscious about standing all-but naked in front of you.

After an agonizing number of seconds (like fifteen), you get to your feet and move toward me, swinging the leash in your hands. Standing mere inches away, you reach up and loop your finger through the D-ring on the front of the collar, tugging on it just enough to put pressure on my neck. You don't speak (you rarely do), but the deep grunt from your chest shows appreciation and I feel my nipples harden.

In a flash, your finger moves, replaced by the clip at the end of the leash. You give a little tug to make sure it's secure, then draw me close. Hot breath on my skin bears the words, 'So, what do you think?' And all I can do is moan.

This seems to please you well enough that you slap my tits with the free end of the leash. I squeak and jump at the suddenness and the pain, but also feel fresh moisture between my legs. You are **so** turning me on.  


* * *

**Fantasy #6**   
_'Picnic'  
Okay, yes, I want to go on a picnic. But this isn't any ordinary picnic. This is a very private picnic. We'll have a picnic basket, but it won't contain sandwiches and wine. There could be wine, I guess._

But, in the basket we'll have some foodstuffs appropriate for drizzling or smearing, the collar, the leash, some rope, a ball gag, a blindfold, the butterfly and any other of my toys you'd like to bring along.

I assume you can deduce what sorts of things might happen during this rather unconventional picnic. If you'd like some additional details, I'll write some up.  


* * *

**Entry #9**   
_I mentioned 'other toys' in the previous fantasy. I should probably point out that, in my room, there is a chest in the corner with a wide variety of interesting items. Now, there is a rule - no touching the toys without permission. I can't have you pawing all of my goodies.  
_

* * *

**Fantasy #7**   
_This one is all about you. Whatever you want, exactly the way you want it. Whatever you ask, you get. No questions. No fighting. No defiance. Nothing. Pure, unadulterated obedience. What you say goes._

If you tell me to sit on the floor at your feet with my head in your lap while we watch TV; that's what I'll do.

If you tell me to kneel between your legs and suck you off only during the commercial breaks; that's what I'll do.

You can do or say anything and I have to go along with it.  


* * *

**Entry #10**   
_I want you to know that hearing you scream-moan my name that first time (the one without the high-temp residual anger) was really sexy. I know, I looked a bit stunned, but I hadn't heard you use my first name before, but it was sexy. Really sexy. Just the thought of hearing you say my name like that again is turning me on. Uh - I have to go now...  
_

* * *

**Dream #3**   
_I dreamed of you again. (No, not all of my dreams are about you, but I don't write about the ones that aren't.) I come home one night and find you sprawled on my bed, naked except for your glasses, which you're only wearing so you can read the journal while you wait. When I come into the room, you tell me to put on a pair of bright pink heels (which I didn't even know I had, but maybe you brought them) and the leather collar and a little sheer apron. These items are laying out on the bed for me. I put them on and wait. _

Next you tell me to go to the kitchen to make tea. Believe me, I was confused too. That is, until I realized why - you wanted to watch my ass in this non-existent outfit. And also, to watch me carry a tray with teacups on it back into the bedroom - because you made me wait until you were back in there to deliver the tea.

With the tray in hand, you tell me to kneel without spilling any. Each drop I spill is one lash with the leash, but if I spill on purpose, you'll leave. Now **there's** a challenge - because I really want you to hit me, but I don't want you to leave, but the only way to get the punishment is to spill the tea, but if I spill it on purpose, I get nothing. Of course, I hadn't taken into account just how damned hard it is to kneel with a heavy tea tray in one's hands, so tea is spilled and I am very apologetic about spilling your tea.

My apology means nothing. Once the tea tray is on the bed, you drink your tea and let me have mine while I sit, anticipating my punishment. **That** is almost harder than kneeling with the tray - waiting. I hate waiting. But you make it so damned good when I do, that I manage to get through it. I spilled seven drops according to my count of the lashes you give me. But after those, you tell me that my ass isn't pink enough yet, so you 'double up' and hit me seven more times. By then, my legs are shaking and I'm very aroused. You are too, of course, and you make sure that I feel every thrust when you fuck me, because you've rolled me over so my ass is on the cotton sheets which feel very rough against my abused skin. I like it.

The damned alarm clock went off before we got to the good part though -   


* * *

**Entry #11**   
_You're a bastard, you know that? One simple little question and you can't even give me an answer. Thank you so much for shoving a sharp stick into my vulnerability._

I'm going to have to set up a point system or something so you can keep up with how far you're backsliding. You idiot. All this information you seem to want so badly, you don't seem so keen on trying to get it. There are no more journals to sneak the information from, so if you want it, you have to go through me. And I won't give it to you until you earn it.  


* * *

**Dream #4**   
_And why do you show up in my dreams more often when I'm angry at you? Damn you._

There's a lifeboat, very small, but enough for one or two people to sit. I'm in the boat – alone. The water is a little choppy, but not so rough that it's rocking the boat. I'm actually, mostly, enjoying myself until I see a fin moving toward me, then circling the boat. A shark. How does it know to stay here. I'm not bleeding, I'm not even moving. How does it know there's anything even resembling possible food here?

I see it rise out of the water for a brief moment and it seems to have the bluest eyes. Do sharks have blue eyes? Then it's gone again to nothing but the circling dorsal fin.

All seems well until the shark starts charging the boat, pushing it, possibly trying to flip it over. I can't jump into the water, there's no safe haven there, and I can't stay in the boat. Just when I think it's all over, I'm stranded on an island.. with a dog that won't stop barking at me. The odd thing is, beyond the dog is a dolphin jumping from the waves. From my position, the dolphin appears to be jumping around the dog – almost as though it's playing with the dog, despite all the noise.

 

Really odd dream, but I figure the shark and the dog are you. I haven't worked out what all of the images mean, but I'm getting there.  


* * *

**Fantasy #8**   
_Outfits - #2_

Naughty schoolgirl, which includes a white button-down shirt, a vest, a plaid, pleated skirt, white cotton panties, white scrunchy socks and those saddle shoes. Hair in pigtails and a pair of black glasses complete the look. (There can be schoolbooks too, if you'd like.)

Just the outfit seems to be enough to turn you on at first sight, but there's always more than that. You sit me in a desk to take my lessons and have me jump around and run like I'm in gym class or at recess. By this point, you can't resist tugging on the pigtails and do so in order to drag me across your lap. You flip the skirt up and rub your hand over the panties for a bit before smacking your hand down against my ass. You tell me I've been very bad in school today and that you're going to have to punish me. You slap my ass until your hand is sore, then tell me I have to kneel on the floor and suck you off while wearing my little schoolgirl outfit.

After I've done that, you tell me to sit in a chair and rub myself through the little panties so you can watch. You tell me I'm not allowed to come until you say so and it's absolute torture waiting for your 'okay'... that never seems to come.  


* * *

**Entry #12**   
_What, exactly, do you have against holidays? Are there any at all that you like? Forget the capitalism of it all for a minute. Go back to the way they're supposed to be. Do you just hate them on principle or did you get beat up by a Hallmark store when you were little? _

Not everyone gives gifts with the sole purpose of receiving one in return. I'm one of those people. If I give gifts, it's because I want to. Because I think it will make the person happy. I don't expect anything in return. (Maybe the words 'thank you'.)

You giant grouch.  


* * *

**Entry #13**   
_I'm sorry._

I'm sorry I was such a brat. But it's not very nice to mess up other people's things. I just wanted candy and flowers around - they all looked nice.

I won't do it again.

******

Are you really angry with me? Over flowers and candy? The candy was mostly for you. I really did have some fun stuff planned. Not for Valentine's Day, because I figured you'd be elsewhere, but I thought using the card was a nice way to send the message without being overt. I just wanted you to come play with me. It's been - a while. Over a week. I know it doesn't seem like very long, but it's a long time to go without being able to **taste** you.

I'm sorry. Again.  


* * *

**Dream #5**   
_I think my dreams are getting weirder._

This time, I'm your pet. Literally. I mean, I'm still me, but you treat me like I'm an actual pet. I'm in a collar and on a leash wherever we go. At home, you make me crawl around on all fours and if you go out for a while, you lock me in a crate. Even at night, when you go to bed, you put me in the crate. It's in your room, so I'm still close to you, but I'm in an animal crate.

I guess it's not all bad, but the only position we ever have sex in is, right, doggy-style. Not that I mind, but I can't believe it's exciting for you that way. Or comfortable.

You call me your 'bitch' and pet me and feed me from dishes on the floor. I'm completely dependent on you for everything and it's quite odd and a little disconcerting. What if you leave me? What would I do then?

I was shaking a little when I woke up from that one.  


* * *

**Fantasy #9**   
_**Ask First:** \- I've had this one floating around in my head for a little while, but I'm putting it down on paper now:_

I'm at your place – you've decided I should be there, maybe your leg hurt or you wanted a change of scenery, whatever, we're there. We're doing something, getting going, having fun and you tie me, spreadeagle, to the bed. As you're putting on the blindfold, the door opens in the living room and it's suddenly very quiet in the bedroom.

I'm horrified, but you seem cool as a cucumber. You press a finger to your lips, telling me to be quiet, slip the blindfold into place, then step out to the hallway to greet Stacy (of course it's Stacy, no one else can get in without assaulting the door). I can't hear much, but I hear you mention that you have a gift for her. Oh shit! She seems intrigued by this prospect.

I'm naked, blindfolded and tied to the bed and the only thing I know is that you're coming back into the room… with Stacy. I hear her groan your name, then the sound of a hand slapping skin – I assume she smacked your bare chest.

"What the hell…?" she stops talking, presumably because you've either kissed her or pressed your talented mouth to her neck or something. I hear her moan softly and laugh and breathe and everything. I hear that sound from her that means she's consenting to whatever you're asking. Giving in to you – like everyone eventually does.

"Cameron," your voice is soft and I feel your hand on my leg. “There's someone here who wants to play with your hot little body.” And oh how I wish you meant yourself.

“Um – Greg...”

“Now, Stacy, don't refuse such a wonderful gift. She might be offended.”

“Greg, are you sure she's okay with this? She looks – nervous.”

Your large hand strokes solidly along my inner thigh – one of your soothing touches that let's me know you're looking out for me. “She's fine with it. Fully consenting. Isn't that right, Cameron?”

I nod my head as confidently as I can. But Stacy's right, I'm nervous about this. But I'm okay.

“Stacy, come on. It's a gift. You've wanted to try this. Controlled situation, captive audience, cheering section...” Oh god, you are such a perv, of course you're going to watch.

It's quiet for a while until I hear fabric rustling and Stacy giggling. Bastard, you're supposed to be doing things to **me**. I hear you whispering, but I can't tell what you're saying, then the bed dips and hands are touching me, but they're not yours. Oh God, I hope they're Stacy's.

Up my legs, over my hips, circling my breasts – complete with a tweak to each nipple that makes me jump – along my throat until slender fingers push into my mouth. I suck them in, tasting each one, curling my tongue around them like I do when the fingers in my mouth are yours. She seems pleased with this and withdraws her fingers to slide them around my nipples. I moan at the sensations; she rewards me with a soft kiss to my lips.

I hear you grunt from the side of the bed. I can tell you want to join in, but you're waiting as patiently as you ever do – not at all. Stacy's moving too slow for you, though it's as slow as you want it to be for me. Ironic, no?

Moments later, she's kissed her way down my body and is licking my pussy, spreading me open with her fingers, dipping her tongue in to taste. Has she done this before? Does she like doing this? I'm enjoying it, but maybe not for the reasons you think. Oh, sure, I like what she's doing, but I like that it's what **you** want more. You asked this of me and I'm happy to oblige you (even if it was a bit impromptu).

You grunt again, apparently annoyed that you're not part of the action, and I hear you shuffle around the bed. I can't tell what you're doing until I hear the strangest sound from Stacy's throat that vibrates through me. You're on your knees behind her, tasting her the way she's tasting me – I can just tell. Now **that** I'd like to watch. I think it'd be hot to see you work like that.

All the sensations, all the movement, the vibrations, everything – it's too much and I can't take it. I don't know if I'm supposed to wait for permission, but I can't help it, I come – so hard, so fast, my legs are shaking the chains you've shackled me to and my arms are pulling so tight at their restraints I'm going to have bruises on my wrists. And I don't care at all, because it feels so damned good.

Now all I want you to do is fuck me so hard I pass out. But you won't. Because **she's** there. And when she's around, I'm nothing to you. Nothing but a toy or an obstacle. And I wish I could see you, see your face, so I could know what you're thinking, know what you want. The blindfold isn't sexy anymore. I'm lonely now, because I'm the only one on the bed and I'm still chained up and I'm cold and I don't know where you are and it's starting to scare me. I don't say anything, I don't want you to know that I'm scared. I just want you to hold me. But you don't. You never do.

There's rustling and movement and “Greg! Shouldn't you let her go already?” At least someone's concerned.

“No. She'll be fine right there. We won't be gone long.” I hear you step-thumping across the floor to leave.

“No. Greg, let her go.” Stacy's insistant. If you don't let me up, she probably will. Is that what you want?

I hear you sigh – you hate this plan. “Fine. I'll meet you at the car.” You kiss her and send her on her way. The bed dips again and I can't help the tiny, frightened whimper that escapes my throat. You don't seem to notice anything's amiss until my arms shrink away from your touch. This seems to spark your interest and you peel the blindfold from my eyes. I shut them, blinking in the sudden light, blinking away tears. “Cameron?”

I turn away. “Just unchain me,” I say, defeated, tired.

This you don't like at all. I'm free in a manner of seconds and now you are holding me and I can't stop the tears. I don't know if it's from all the emotions or because I'm scared or what, but I need to cry. I need you and you're going to leave me – alone – in your place while you go out with **her**. I'm certain of it.

So sure. Until a rather put out Stacy appears in the bedroom door, lurking, leaning, scowling at you. Her face certainly asks 'What the hell is going on?', but she's mildly sympathetic when she sees you holding me, brushing a hand over my hair. There are no words, so I know the two of you are communicating through ESP or sheer facial expressions or something. I sniffle and see her nod and disappear from the doorway. I don't know what you said to her, but she doesn't seem upset at all.

More and more it looks like you don't know what to say or do, so I get the one question that you never ask: “Are you okay?” And my only response is a headshake and another sniffle. I try to dry my eyes and my nose, but it won't stop. I don't know what's going on. This is almost more frightening than being chained without sight.

“Cameron, help me out here. What do you want me to do?” Now you sound scared and that's not good.

“Don't know,” I say through a sniffle. “Just – just hold me for now, okay?” I don't know what'll happen if you refuse, so I don't think on that.

Shaky, you nod and curl me into your arms, draw a blanket around me, then stroke my hair. I hear you whispering, but I don't know what you're saying. Right now, it doesn't matter, it only matters that you're here and you're talking to me and not leaving me and that you're warm and strong and you're not going to let anything happen to me. And none of this, right now, has anything to do with sex or relationships and everything to do with stability and emotional fortitude (of which, I currently don't seem to have any).

We sit there, on the bed, for a long time. I hear Stacy poke her head in a couple times to ask if we need anything, but beyond that, she seems to leave us alone.

Slowly, I start to come back to myself and cling less to you. But it's not until I'm asleep that you let go. That's interesting to me – especially since I shouldn't actually know that – because it's not like you. As I'm drifting off, I hear you apologize to me, though I don't know why and by the time I wake up, I don't even remember that you've said anything at all.

******

I don't know why there's an experience of sub-drop in a fantasy (it's not exactly the kind of thing people sit around and fantasize about), except that maybe I want you to understand how important it is not to run off immediately following whatever we do. Especially if it involves any type of BDSM elements. I'd try talking to you, but when you're that close to me, and we're alone, all I want to do is find the fastest way to get to what my body is craving from you and it's really not words. Writing to you here seems to work out better – for both of us.  


* * *

**Fantasy #10**   
_It's late, really late, they've turned out the lights in the hallway late, and I'm in the office finishing some paperwork and going through some e-mail. I've taken off my lab coat and twisted my hair up off my neck. Apparently they figure we don't need air conditioning after nine pm. _

I know you're there, but I don't turn around, though I know that's what you want. You stand behind me for a solid thirty seconds before you brush your fingers over the back of my neck seeking a shiver. The shiver you get. Obviously you're pleased by this, because you lean down to nibble at my neck and cup my breast. From this angle, where you're standing, I can see the bulge in your pants and it turns me on almost more than your mouth on my skin does. I moan and feel you smile against my neck.

Suddenly I find myself sitting on the edge of the desk and you between my legs, digging a hand up my thigh to find the waistband of my panties, only to discover I'm not wearing any. (Thank God for long skirts.) I see the smirk spread over your face as your fingers walk over my hot, wet skin, then slip inside with practiced precision. Another moan for you, then, smooth as can be, you're inside me, fucking me on the desk, doing your best to make me scream.  


* * *

**Entry #14**   
_Okay, I admit, the idea of spending an entire weekend with you, naked, was intimidating. But not once did I ever consider telling you 'no'. I thought once about postponing, but thought better of that when the idea of spending the next month thinking about what you might do almost made my head explode. Doing it 'now' suddenly became the best option. So, I will be there. After work on Friday._

******

That drive over was probably the most nerve-wracking thing I've done in a while, but I'm here, outside your place, ready to do this.

******

Your eyes on me, watching me, studying me, piercing me, is probably one of the sexiest experiences of my life. Despite it making me nervous. There I stood, in front of you, waiting for your instructions, naked, vulnerable, completely at your mercy, and you don't even touch me. I have chills just with the memory. You are a master at the art of subtle torture. Do you have any idea how hard it is to need to be touched, but are forced to wait?

Sucking you off is one of the most enjoyable things we do. I'll tell you why – pleasure. Yours. You take such pleasure in what I'm doing to you. That makes it so much better. (Had a boyfriend once who was a big wet rag about it. He'd demand I do it, but never made a move or a sound, until a disgusting grunt when he came. I didn't mind so much, because he was good with other things, but one day, he tried to hit me. And I don't mean the hot, fun time type either. That was the end of that relationship.)

Whoa, okay, tangent. Back on track –

Simple things, like twisting your fingers in my hair or shifting your hips, let me know that you like what I'm doing. Please, unless we're playing something where you're supposed to be an ass, don't stop doing these things. If you stop, you risk losing the good parts.

Have I told you how much I like the way you touch me? How you tease me? My god, man, where did you pick up these techniques? Those subtle touches, the concentration everywhere but where I **need** you to touch me.

I am sorry about what happened when we woke up. I didn't mean to retreat, but sometimes I'm not sure how to respond to your moods. Plus, you dissed my massage therapy skills. Fuck you, House. You haven't even let me try. How do you know if I'm any good or not?

And, for the record, it is fucking **cold** in your place, especially when you wake up naked.

The shower idea was a very good one. And demanding that I undress you – mmmm. I know, bad writing, but damn, that was hot. Touching you, peeling off each piece of clothing, seeing you – really seeing you. I know, you don't like letting people see your scar, and I'll admit, it's not pretty. In fact, it's ugly, but it's just a scar. I didn't look at it as long as I would've liked – not to make you uncomfortable, I just want to see it. It doesn't matter to me. Obviously I already knew you had it and I still want you. That should tell you something about how I work. I won't focus on the scar, if you don't want me to look at it, I won't, but it does intrigue me a little.

Should have known you had plans to torture me with my past, you bastard. I loved my husband and I wouldn't do anything to hurt him, even when he was dying, even at the end, even when he hardly knew who I was anymore. Don't you get that? It's not easy to watch someone suffer like that. It's not easy to have someone beside you that you could easily fall into for comfort and **not** do it, but it can be done. I did it. The reasons why are far less significant than the actions - or lack thereof - themselves. One day, maybe you'll have the opportunity to know what that feels like and to know how good it feels to not have done it; to know that you beat the temptation and didn't let it overtake you.

Of course, I don't think it's fair of you to ask me such questions when I'm blitzed out of my mind. Speaking of – how the **hell** did you do that? I've never had anyone get me off like that before – completely above the waist. I dare you to manage it again. You do it and I'll give you a blowjob for your birthday, no matter what.

and I probably shouldn't do that, but, holy shit, that was amazing

******

I'm going to fill up half this book with this one weekend alone. Wow.

As I said, anything you tell me stays out of the book unless you specifically ask me to write it down. However, I will comment about it, as it relates to what we're doing.

I am glad you told me. It helps a lot. I don't expect it will change my fantasies much - because that's all they are, fantasies - but I won't ask you to do things I don't think you'll be comfortable with. And if I do, just tell me and I'll be okay with that.

I'm sure you realized that I have a bit of an abandonment fear. I never brought it up, because I didn't want you to plan anything. Maybe that's manipulative, but these are my fears we're talking about here. The spreader bar was actually part of that, but I think I managed to conquer that one. Putting it in the bag, talking about it, making it part of the weekend - all helped. The abandonment - that will take a bit longer.

Fears out of the way - thank you. Thank you for talking to me. Even if I've already said it - it means a lot. And I do still think Stacy and Wilson are very lucky people. I'd like to be part of that tiny circle someday.

 

Okay, okay, I'm done being squishy and emotional. Now it's the 'you're an evil bastard' part. You tickle me? How's that fair? You said I couldn't try it! Tickling is so not fair when the one doing the tickling is considerably stronger than the one being tickled!

Though, to back-up, why don't you want me to kneel? Or sit on the floor? It doesn't bother me, it's just part of the role. It helps me keep 'in character', so to speak. If I"m supposed to submit, it helps maintain the scene. But if you really don't like it, I'll stop.

******

Wow. Sorry. That last bit was all over the place. Let's see if I can keep my head straight to write some more.

I love fucking you. Having sex with you, tasting you, feeling you between my legs - face, fingers, cock. You're amazing. You probably don't hold the same opinion of me. I figure you indulge me because you like the idea of someone like me wanting to be with someone like you.

Maybe that hurts a little. But maybe it doesn't bother me all that much. Four years ago, when I first started working for you, it would have. I really wanted the romance. And, gah - it hurt to see the way you looked at **her** though she was beyond your grasp. Don't get me wrong, I'm really happy for you that you could love someone. I guess I just don't understand how you could limit yourself to just one person - ever.

I probably shouldn't write about these things since you'll just mock me, but I have to put them somewhere. If they stay in my head, it gets too crowded.

I want to be with you. Spend time with you. Get to know you. I had kind of hoped this weekend would be like that. It's part of what excited me about the idea. Sure, the sex was part of it (a very good part), but I was hoping for a little more... conversation. I know you don't like to talk about yourself, your past, but we don't have to talk about that. I would like to know more about you though. Know what things you like, what you like to do. There's more to you than the damaged leg and the doctor. Why do you hide it? I've seen glimpses - they come out when you're with **her**. I'd like to see some of them when you're with me. Nothing big, just little snapshots of the parts of you that people at work or in public don't typically get to see.

I'm trying not to be too sappy, but this is stuff I've been thinking about for a while, so I wanted to write it down. I'm probably shooting myself in the foot, but I needed to write. I needed you to know. Wanted you to know.  


* * *

**Entry #14-b**   
_  
Looks like I was right. Shot myself in the foot. Now you won't even talk to me except for work. I'm not that clingy. I just want to know you better. Don't push me away. Don't treat me like..._

...like everyone else.   


* * *

  


* * *

(( written on the back page of the journal ))  
_**Tried it once, not impressed:**  
* lesbian sex - not my thing  
* anal sex - though I think he did it wrong  
* tit fucking - what's the point?  
* most other 'non penetrative' sex forms - they just don't do it for me  
* reverse cowgirl - everything's going the wrong way_

 

**Things I'm not into at all:**  
* using my feet to get someone off  
* fisting  
* weird stuff - the **really** weird stuff - bodily fluids -   
*'piledriver' position - if I wanted my neck snapped, I'd just find someone to do it the old-fashioned way  
* anilingus - no, just no  



	3. March / April - 2008

**Entry #15**   
_  
Been a little dull lately. I know, **she** was back from her trip and you've been - am I hearing right - working on opening a bar in town? What, the doctor bit not exciting enough for you? My god - I'm going to go crazy. There's only so much one can do alone, you know..._

_I haven't written much in here, because we've been kind of busy with those couple cases at work and I haven't really felt like writing. Maybe it was some burnout from the 'weekend' or something. Not complaining. Loved it. But, maybe it was almost too much... almost.  
_

* * *

**Fantasy #11**   
_  
This as a result of the need to do something to spice up my sex life... because it's dropped off into nowheresville. I hate it when you're in one of your moods, you bastard._

_Flogging - this is where the spreader bar (minus the wrist cuffs) could come in very handy. Depending on where you'd like the lashes to strike, legs immobilized, body bent over a table, the back of the couch, a chair or just leaning against a wall, presented and ready for the lashes of the flogger. I'm not talking about an Indiana Jones type whip, but a suede or deerskin toy that's designed for this sort of thing. It might be easier if I show you - little demonstration. It can still hurt, but it'll take a little more effort to get something closer to a 'sting'. Plus, it'll save your hand._

_You know - you should add some of your ideas to this little book. There's plenty of space. And, if we fill this one up, I know where the bookstore is, I can get a new one.  
_

* * *

**Entry #16**   
_  
Oh - let me know when you're going to open you bar, I'll take you and your business partner out for dinner. I won't tell you where, but I think you'll like it.  
_

* * *

**Fantasy #12**   
_  
You're laying on the bed, naked, comfortable and I'm warming massage oil between my palms. I kneel beside you and, starting at your shoulders, work my fingers into the tense muscles there, down your back, then back up and out along your arms. Back over the shoulders, then down toward your hips, over your ass to work on the backs of your legs (with permission, of course), all the way down to the soles of your feet and the tips of your toes. _

_Then I have you roll to your back so I can work on your front. Again, I start at your shoulders and work out more of those knots you seem to keep there. Slowly, smoothly I work my hands down your chest, back to your shoulders and out along your arms to your hands and fingers. Back to your chest, down toward your hips. Next are your legs - I've gotten your okay to do this too, because I wouldn't want to spring something like this on you and have you not be okay with me touching you. (Yes, the idea of touching your leg makes me nervous. I don't want to hurt you and it's not my leg, so I don't know what would or wouldn't hurt.)_

_Hips, thighs, calves, feet - I spend time here, making sure you're sufficiently relaxed before moving elsewhere. _

_Oh, did I forget to mention this is an **erotic** massage? After I've soothed your extremities and chest, the only thing left is your cock and balls. More oil to ensure a pleasurable experience, and my hands curl around you, stroking and squeezing and gentle, soft movements that get you worked up. When you're almost there, I stop and focus elsewhere for a little while, then back to your cock. I'll repeat this until you want me to stop. From here, I can either get you off with my hands or we can have some incredibly hot sex. That part's up to you.  
_

* * *

**Entry #17**   
_  
This entry completed on a directive from you:_

_I don't know what you want me to write. I was charting and working in the clinic and you brought me more charts - your charts. I asked you to help me fill them in and you refused, like you always do. I cannot fill in information that I don't have. You were not helpful, so I moved into the exam room, leaving you to decide if you wanted to come help or not._

_You decided to grace me with your presence, looking smug as always and when I kissed you, god, when I kissed you... fire and passion and burning need._

_You pushed me against the counter and told me I was a bad girl, though I don't know what exactly you think I did. I came to work, I wrote down my thoughts and fantasies like always, you belittled me and did what you always do and I didn't say or do a damned thing. You touched me and took off the butterfly and asked me a bunch of questions that I don't remember._

_Then you dragged me over to the stool and pulled me down on your lap after I unleashed your cock. Then you fucked me long enough to get yourself off and left me utterly frustrated._

_Under other circumstances, I might have found that idea intriguing and sexy, but not like that. That was just cruel._

_The butterfly's in the toybox, by the way, when you need it again._

_I'm going to bed.  
_

* * *

**Entry #18**   
_I'm not in a fantasy mood and most of my dreams have been bland and boring - when I remember them at all. I'm not in much of a mood for anything and my freezer is sadly devoid of ice cream. _

_I did go for my walk in the park. It was nice. Quiet. Calm. Some lady's dog came over to sit beside me for a while, so I scratched his head and looked out over the lake. _

_That's all.  
_

* * *

**Entry #19**   
_I want the princess. I want to be the princess. Just for a day.  
_

* * *

**Fantasy #13** [written as a prompt response for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=get_house_laid)[get_house_laid](http://www.livejournal.com/users/get_house_laid/)]

_This is one of several fantasies about voyeurism - prearranged and not. If you're very very good, I'll write more. But first, this one. It involves you, Wilson and the balcony outside your office. Well, and me, of course._

_Wilson's out on the balcony, waiting for you, since you asked him to meet you there. He's crunching on some cold cereal and has a glass of juice nearby. I think he's also wondering why you wanted to meet him at seven a.m., since you rarely get out of bed before nine. I'm a little curious too, but since I'm in the conference room making coffee, no one's paying any attention to me._

_At eight minutes after seven, you show up, swaggering and cranky through your office, dropping your knapsack behind your desk and your coat over the back of your chair. Whistling a happy tune, you push open the door and step onto the balcony with Wilson. A swing of your cane taps him right on the back of the knee, making his leg all but collapse and his cereal bowl flip over the edge of the balcony. Listening carefully, even I can hear the soft tinkle of the china breaking on the sidewalk below._

_"Oops," you say, toothy grin in place to piss him off._

_He's known you for so long that your antics don't faze him at all anymore. He scowls in mourning over his lost breakfast, then sighs as he turns back to you and your jaunty tune. "You're buying lunch today," he tells you in no uncertain terms._

_You, essentially, shrug this off as yet another minor inconvenience that you'll find a way around later. You always do._

_"What'd you want?" Wilson asks as he wedges himself into the little corner created by the edging wall and that little divider wall, one hand resting on each of those walls._

_You plant your cane a comfortable distance ahead of you and take a step forward, somehow managing to make it look sexy. Even Wilson thinks so, as I can see him swallow a small lump in his throat. That's kind of hot. How did you manage to turn him on without doing anything more than walking? I can see you both, so it's not like you got anything past me. There are no cocks hanging out, no chest hair puffing through shirts, nothing specifically different, just two steps that looked really damn hot - both to me and to Wilson._

_I see you grin. This is obviously exactly what you'd wanted - Wilson nearly drooling over you. But why?_

_"You can't have me, Jimmy," you chastise him, knowing it will completely catch him off guard._

_It does. "Wh-what?" he splutters. "I don't want you."_

_"Right."_

_"I don't. One, you're not my type. Two, you're a guy."_

_"Wondering when you'd notice that."_

_Wilson smirks, unimpressed with your lame joke._

_"Of course I'm your type, Jimmy. **Breathing** is your type."_

_Wilson's scowl deepens and he folds his arms over his chest. "Breathing and **female**, House."_

_"That's not what your college roommate told me." That self-satisfied smirk has successfully staked it's claim to your face, planted a flag and set-up the beginnings of civilization. Wilson's in big trouble now._

_Wilson's eyes widen and his hands start to flail. "Robert didn't tell you anything."_

_No response, just the smirk that's successfully started crop-rotation._

_"He wouldn't." Wilson seems to be losing his confidence on this one pretty quickly. "Dammit. He swore he'd never tell anyone about that."_

_That smirk just graduated into full-on self-satisfied grin, broad and unashamed. "Why, Jimmy..."_

_"House! You bastard!" His ears have actually turned red by this point._

_You crutch your way over to him, keeping a decent distance to ensure neither of you does something stupid enough to send one or both of you over the edge of the balcony. "Don't be ashamed, Jimmy. Everyone experiments in college."_

_"Did you?" he asks, his voice cracking around the dryness in his throat. (Have you ever noticed just how well sound carries through these glass walls?)_

_"No," you respond and take a seat in the chair you keep out there for - whatever reason you keep it there. Sitting, I'd presume, but we are talking about you here, House._

_The crease in Wilson's brow just got promoted to 'canyon'. "Do you want to?"_

_"No," you reassure him. "And surely not with you. We're **friends**, Jimmy. Friends don't do that sort of thing together."_

_"The ones with benefits do," Wilson quips back. Damn, that was good. Go, Wilson!_

_'Even surprised you. I can see your eyes lift and widen ever-so-slightly. "Friends get benefits?" you ask as though this is a completely new concept for you._

_"Sometimes," Wilson sighs and turns around to glance down at the destruction that was his breakfast._

_True to your style, you let him bemoan his breakfast in silence for a long, long time. So long that **I** almost get bored enough to leave and I usually like watching you two duke it out verbally over something ridiculous._

_Wilson's not playing into your 'silent treatment'. In fact, he's ignoring you completely. Is this part of the plan?_

_"You're attracted to me," you finally add to the conversation._

_"No, I'm not," he replies without turning away from his deceased cereal._

_You sigh. "You are. Sexually. You want me."_

_"That narcissism, how's that working out for you there, House? Need a refill?"_

_"Turn around, you idiot."_

_He does and his eyes are suddenly very wide and his cheeks, very red - all the way to his ears again. I have to crane around a bit to figure out why and - holy crap, House! I think I'd've had the same reaction to seeing it just there, exposed and growing as you stroke it with your hand. Shit. I gasp and while Wilson doesn't seem to notice (too busy licking his chops over your cock, I guess), you do and glance toward my location through the window, that smug grin on your face. From that look, I know you're expecting me to stick around to watch the show. Hey, what the hell._

_A hard swallow of another lump in his throat and Wilson splutters, "Um, House..."_

_"You want it?" you ask, calm, casual. "'Want to taste it? 'Get me off with your mouth?"_

_I've never seen Wilson look so nervous before, but he also looks like he really wants to do it. My vote's on 'go for it, Jimmy!'. _

_"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" Wilson tries to play off the suggestion as typical House antics._

_You shake your head and continue to stroke yourself. Holy hell, Wilson, get to it or I'm coming through the glass to do it for you._

_Well, well, maybe that did it for Wilson too. He's lowering himself to his knees in front of you, eyes focused on yours for a long time, like he's seeking permission still. You nod and he's suddenly a lot less nervous. He bows his head and opens his mouth, taking you in all at once, closing his lips around the base of your shaft before sucking his way back to the tip. Wilson, I'm impressed with your fellatio skills. _

_You are too, from what I can tell. You drop your hand into his hair, softly guiding him as he moves on your cock and your head falls back, leaning against the window. I watch your eyes drift closed and your mouth slip open, followed by your quiet moans of pleasure from having your dick sucked. I know it's one of your favorite activities and I know your sounds. Wilson's good, but this isn't the best you've ever gotten. I've heard you when it's been mind-blowingly good._

_Wilson works hard though, he's going at it like his life depends on it. Hell, after what you put him through, maybe his life **does** depend on it. He's doing a good job, because you only make that rumbling growl noise when it's really good. Huh, never knew Wilson swung both ways._

_There's a sound I know very well - that sigh-groan that accompanies your orgasm. Gotta say, I've never seen your face when you do that, but it's fucking beautiful to watch it now. Wilson doesn't swallow, he spits into the plant in the corner - ew - then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. _

_"Fuck me, Jimmy, didn't expect you to prove me right quite like **that**."_

_Wilson, good on him, just smirks and leaves you on the balcony to recover._

_I'm still shocked as hell that he didn't see me through the whole thing, but damn if I don't want to storm out onto the balcony and fuck you senseless after that. It was really hot._

_I do go out there, but I don't fuck you. You look like you might break. As I'm standing there, you look up at me and ask, "Wanna try a threesome?"_

_You bastard._

 

* * *

 

**Entry #20**   
_Guess this is the last entry in this journal. I won't be writing in here anymore. There's nothing more to write if there's nothing more to do._

_Bye, House.  
_

* * *

**Entry #21** \- written 2 days after the 'break up'; scratched out the next day

_ ~~I know, I know, I said I wasn't writing in here anymore, but - I have to.~~ _

~~ _I shouldn't do this, it's bad for both of us - but I miss you, dammit._ ~~

~~_I miss talking to you, being with you, fucking you - everything. All the things we did. I miss them. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but it felt really damn good when it was happening. Guess that's why I let it go on as long as I did. I know, you called it off, but you know that if my morality center had kicked in full-throttle, I would've called an end to it a lot sooner._~~ \- I scratched through it, b/c the rule to myself is that nothing gets removed from the journal. I'll leave the last line though. *AC*

_I really am happy for you. And I hope things work out with **her**._


	4. May - 2008

**Entry #22**   
_Happy -_

_You asked me to write about a time when I was happy. This is a strange request from you to start, but it actually was one of the more difficult things to write. I had a hard time recalling a time when I was truly happy._

_You may be pleased to discover that I actually found two. One is from before I met you, the other is after._

_Before: After I got married, my husband and I were on our honeymoon; nothing spectacular, just a trip to get away from life for a while. We were out in a canoe on a lake, laughing and splashing water at each other. Acting like kids. It's the simplest thing, but we were happy. I was happy. I was spending time with my husband and neither of us was worried about his illness or the next trip to the doctor. We were at peace and it was as perfect as it could get._

_Funny, I'd nearly forgotten about that day until you asked me to write this._

_After: The night we went to the Monster Truck thing. That's the only time I've ever seen you truly relaxed and it made me smile. That night was amazing! I knew nothing about monster trucks and I only went because **you** asked me, but I kept an open mind and I had a lot of fun. Thank you.  
_

* * *

**Entry #23**   
_Okay, this is sort of both an entry and a fantasy - _

_You remember a couple years ago, that charity event the hospital did? The Poker Tournament? We all had to get dressed up and play nice? You looked so damned good in that tux. I spent half the hands I played losing because I kept looking at you._

_And the sex appeal factor went *way* up after you unbuttoned the jacket and took off the tie. (Though, I do like the tie.) Your collar open, that crisp white shirt. You have no idea how much I wanted to pin you in a dark room, a secluded corner and find out just what you were thinking when you turned around and saw me in that dress. You know, when we weren't worrying about the patient. _

_I had some amazingly hot dreams that night._

_Do you want to know about them? Or the fantasies? Really, they're about the same._

_Oh, I'll tell you this one:_

_After the party and the case and everything, when everyone was leaving and you were playing the piano - yes, finally, I really got to hear you play - I wanted to walk over and sit and listen. Hearing you play made me all warm and tingly inside, like when you first get into a really hot bath after a long day, or when a lover slides his fingers along the inside of your thigh when he's reaching to tug off your panties... but I guess you haven't exactly experienced that, huh? Um - okay, how about, when a lover grazes her fingernails down your abdomen, over your stomach and moves to unfasten your pants. That better? Anyway, it was like that. There's so much emotion in your music. I like it._

_But, I wanted to sit there, on the bench with you and just listen to you play. (I actually did stand over in one of the corners next to a ficus to listen for a while, but Wilson showed up and you lumbered off to be boys.) God, you're so talented. All I've got is what I learned in med school. I don't know how to be anything else._

_When you were finished playing, I wanted you to give me some kind of indication that you wanted me to follow you, go somewhere secluded and quiet - maybe your office, maybe the balcony, maybe out to your car, then off somewhere - but someplace where we would be alone. Then you would kiss me and sift your fingers in my hair, then pull away to step back and just look at me. Admire the dress and imagine what it would look like in a little pool of red satin on the floor. You draw me in again and tell me that you want to know what I'm wearing beneath the dress as your agile fingers reach for the zipper at the back, drawing it down until the garment slips free and pools at my feet. It amuses you that I'm wearing a strapless bra and you comment that I really didn't need it - which is kind of offensive, but I let you get away with it because of what you're doing with your hands on my butt. _

_One of those hands abandons its current post to remove my bra - impressive feat - while the other slips around to press against my pussy through the tiny panties I'm wearing. I watch your eyebrow arch into your hairline when you see the little bows resting on my hips. That delectable little smirk that you get when you realize that something's just gone your way bends your lips and your fingers reach to tug those little bows into strings and I feel my panties flutter to the floor. _

_You growl against my neck and fist your hand in my hair for control and drag me to a horizontal surface (what, exactly, is dependent on where we've gone, obviously), push me down and tell me that you just want to look at me for a while. I feel my skin flush from hip to head. I'm nervous under your heavy gaze and can't look at you. You want me to, though. You take my chin in your fingers and turn my head to face you, to look up into your eyes. My god, your eyes are so blue, so deep, so - pained. Please, let me help you._

_You ignore my unspoken pleas and reach to scoot my butt closer to the edge of the bed/desk/table/whatever, then you unfasten your trousers and draw yourself out. One time, you comment that you want me to suck you first, but that you don't think you'll be able to get it up twice in one night under the circumstances. The look I give you back tells you that it doesn't really matter to me, as long as I can touch you. You draw my legs up and grab my hips, holding them still as you thrust yourself inside me. It's one of the most amazing sensations and I don't want you to stop._

_There's a brief moment when I think you're going to, because you thrust yourself in and just stop. Then I realize you're shifting your body weight to your good leg so you can start again. It's some of the most amazing sex and I want us to do it again, but you tell me we can't, there's too much risk. I don't like it, but I slip back into my dress, leaving my bra and panties with you, and I leave, looking back once to see if you'll call me back, but you don't; you never do. _

_Me and my red dress, we leave. At home, I hang it in the back of my closet until I need it again.  
_

* * *

**Entry #24**   
_It's lonely again. That's why I'm thinking of getting a dog. I sort of got used to being alone after my husband died, but then you were interested in parts of my life, invading my personal space, squirming your way in, fucking me, which made me realize how lonely I'd been. I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault you made me forget I was alone. I like it when you come by. When you want me. When you kiss me, touch me, take me against the wall. When you make me do things to you. When you tell me what to do. _

_And now - you go and get yourself into an accident. What the hell am I going to do with you, House?_

* * *

**Entry #25**   
_Why is this so damned hard? I've tried. I've tried not to want you. I've tried to get you out of my head. You won't leave, you bastard. You'd think that knowing you don't want me would kick you out, but no. It doesn't. Apparently it makes my subconscious try that much harder to hold onto you. Which, really, makes no sense at all._

_I know you'd agree on that last part. You'd say none of this makes sense. I know. Believe me, I know._

_I used to want you to love me, but now I just want you. You do things to me just by being in the room. With a look, a word, a touch. I'm sure you do a lot of it on purpose because you know it'll get a reaction, but some of it, I'm sure, you're not aware of. Doesn't matter, I like what you do to me. I like the way I feel when you pay attention to me, when you want me to do things, when you just want me._

_Do I still want you to love me? Maybe. I mean, it'd be great if you did, but I can't force something that isn't meant to be. Though, I have read that arranged marriages have a tendency to last longer than the non-arranged variety. (As anti-feminist as the practice generally is.) Not that we're betrothed or anything similar - and I have no idea where I was going with that... so, moving on -_

_Why am I even writing in here? There isn't anything going on between us anymore, unless you've changed the rules and failed to tell me again. So there shouldn't be anything for me to say, right?_

_Maybe there isn't. I haven't had any good fantasies and no amazing dreams that I can recall, so there's nothing to write, except that I really miss being with you. Damn, how do you have so much control over me?_

* * *

**Entry #26**   
_I probably shouldn't write this here, but I feel compelled to do so._

_I loved being with you. Spending time with you - no matter what we were doing - talking, fucking, kissing, eating, all of it. Just being with you made it enjoyable for me. Yes, even when you irritated me or pissed me off, there was always more. Always something else._

_There were even times that I could look at you, or listen to you and I knew you were there with **me** and not off in your head with someone else. You can say what you want, but I know you did enjoy at least some of it._

_I know you don't love me. I'm pretty sure you don't want me. The jury's still out on whether or not you even like me, but the verdict is clear on one thing - you loved some of the things we did together. I know you'll deny it, but it's true._

_Maybe that's why I miss you so much. I'm waiting for that last confirmation. Waiting for you to admit that you liked what we were doing. I **know** you liked it, but I want you to **tell** me you did._

* * *

**Entry #27**   
_I can't stand it. You're laid up in the hospital and it's killing me inside. I hate seeing you like that, knowing you're in pain, knowing you can't walk on your own - not yet, not well. Knowing. Sometimes I hate knowing._

_Like, knowing you won't tell me anything. Why won't you talk to me? It's so frustrating. I know you're hurting and I know talking will help. You don't have to talk about what happened, just talk to me. About anything._

_I like talking to people. I want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me. I know, I'm repeating myself, but you tend not to listen._

_You remember I told you there was more about my sister and my life after that? There is still more, if you're interested. But that communication thing is two-way. I'm not asking for anything specific. I just want to know about you. I'm curious. I'm interested. Yes, I'm interested in knowing about you. Not your deepest, darkest secrets (though, feel free to share those), but about your life. About you._

* * *

**Fantasy #14**   
_I miss writing my fantasies for you. I know we're not together anymore, but that doesn't mean they've stopped. I still want you._

_This fantasy has you bending me over a table or a piano bench, tying me in place so I can't move and making me come over and over and over. It's exhausting, but absolutely amazing. Intense._

_Maybe I read about something like this somewhere, but the idea really appeals to me._

* * *

**Entry #28**   
_I want to know about your fantasies. Forget the part where we're not really doing things anymore. I'd just like to know. Of course, it'd be easier for you to respond to these if you were regularly reading this, instead of when I bring it to you._

_Do you fantasize about me? What do you imagine me doing to you? What do you imagine doing **to** me? When I'm not naked in your head, what am I wearing? Is my hair up or loose? What do I smell like? Do you ravish me or take your time teasing me?_

_I talk a lot about what I want you to do, but you don't ever tell me about things you'd like to try. You know I'm open to just about anything. All you have to do is ask._

_Well, all you **had** to do was ask. That's depressing. I'm sad for all of the things you didn't get to try with me._

_Don't worry, I'm too 'goody-goody' to try to guilt you into doing it again._

_That doesn't mean I won't try a little seduction here and there. I enjoyed the time we spent together. And I do miss it... you. This is pathetic. I need to stop. I'm sorry. I know you think I'm a pathetic, foolish girl. Maybe I am, but, for being pathetic and foolish, I still managed to get what I wanted._

* * *

**Entry #29**   
_I love strawberries. Not necessarily down my shirt, but since it amused you, I'll let it pass._

_Damn you. I let you get away with more than anyone else. How do you do that?_

_Really, the most important part was getting you out of that bed and out of that room. I know you wanted to walk on your own, but I needed you to relax, let go. It's not the same as being bound to the bed, but it's a tiny step._

_I still think you'd enjoy it - being bound and pleasured. It really is a lot of fun. Though, I don't see myself getting the chance to try that anytime soon. But if you decide you'd like to try, you know where to find me._


	5. June - 2008

**Entry #30**   
_What an interesting way to start the month. I was going to go to Kansas City, but a few things got in the way, so, instead, I've been using my time wisely by browsing the internet. I found some [interesting things](http://www.sensuoussadie.com/pulpnovels/PulpNovelsTOC.htm) there. Let me know if you like them and I'll see what I can wrangle up._

* * *

**Entry #31 - dated: 11 June (the only dated entry in the journal)**   
_I hope your birthday was a nice one. My sister would've been twenty-one this year. I would've gotten her a great gift and we would've had a little party. And maybe a big one too._

_I know this is something you don't truly understand, having no siblings of your own, but it's hard not having her around, even if it's been nearly sixteen years. I could try to equate it to waking up missing a limb, but two things: I don't know what that's actually like and that's a bit insensitive._

_I'm sorry this isn't more about us and fantasies, but there isn't all that much to say anymore._

_Fuck, I miss you. I shouldn't, but I do. I mean, I want you to be happy, but I want **me** to be happy too. And you probably don't care at all. At least, that's what you want people to think. You want everyone to think you don't give a shit._

_I know better. If you really didn't give a shit, you wouldn't be a doctor._

_I'm not expecting you to save puppies and kiss babies, but would it kill you to do one or two nice things... we'll start with a year? Just simple things? I know, I already had you do this at Christmas, but maybe I was hoping you'd form a lasting habit. I'm an optimist._

_I miss you more on dates that are important to me. Dates that I want to share with someone - yes, even you. My sister's birthday was last week. Yours is today. I know you've probably got things planned with Stacy, but a drink or something would've been nice. I thought about asking, then talked myself out of it._

_As amusing as it was, I'm sorry about the joke. Though I did find that piano version - does that make it better? I'm sorry. I got the idea and couldn't let it go. Besides - serves you right for some of the evil things you've done to me._

_I really do care about what happens to you. Maybe more than I should. But you fascinate me. I never seem to know what you're going to do._

_I'm going to miss you. I'm actually going to stop writing in this journal, effective as soon as I finish this entry. I should've stopped back when I said I would before, but I couldn't. Now, I'm just going to do it. I'll put the journal away, out of sight so I won't be tempted._

_I have a feeling it will be far easier to give up writing in this journal than it will be giving up wanting you. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do the latter._

_Good-bye, House._

 

[last entry marked with the thin strip of black ribbon from 'the weekend']


End file.
